


Oxygen

by paperstorms



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorms/pseuds/paperstorms
Summary: Rafe reflects on what Sam means to him. Fluff-fest. A short work for the prompt 'accidentally falling asleep on each other' requested by captnalbatr0ss on tumblr.





	

“You know, it’s getting pretty cold.”

Sam merely mumbles in response. He’s leaning heavily on Rafe’s shoulder, his weight pinning him gently against the arm of the couch, and Sam’s attention is so fixated on the tv he might as well be alone. It’s some terrible sci-fi flick from the 80′s and the sound is right down, but that doesn’t seem to bother him at all; he’s practically mouthing along to the dialogue.

Rafe watches him for a while; it’s moments like this that he’s really glad to bear witness to, moments when Sam doesn’t seem like a man caught out of time - when he’s engrossed in something he loves. It’s been weeks since the last time he noticed one, but they’re there. Tiny snippets of evidence that Sam is still his Sam, and not just the shell of the man Rafe knew before Panama. He smiles, eyes flicking back to the tv to catch sight of what has Sam so enraptured. Not that it really matters.

But it really is cold. The wind is howling outside, the late fall New York weather kicking up signs of a storm on the horizon. Rafe nudges his elbow gently into Sam’s side, finally getting his attention.

“What?” Sam demands, but he’s got a dumb grin spread across his handsome face when he looks around. Rafe’s forced to lean in and kiss the smirk away, lips brushing gently over Sam’s as the older man melts into his affections, movie quickly forgotten.

Rafe draws back just enough to brush their noses together. “I said, I’m cold. Could you grab me a blanket or something?”

“What do I look like, your staff?” Sam gawks. “Get it yourself, princess.”

“Please?”

Sam arches an eyebrow at him with a look that says he’s not giving in. Huffing, Rafe tries to pry himself away from the couch but Sam leans more of his weight onto him to keep him there. Rafe huffs again, throwing a sharp look at the older man. He’s relentless. Just as Rafe starts to struggle away, Sam slides an arm around his waist and drags him further down the couch, trapping Rafe beneath him. He smirks and flops down with his head on Rafe’s chest.

“Sam.”

“You’re a good pillow,” Sam teases, eyes back on the tv. “I don’t want to miss the movie.”

Rafe sighs heavily, making a feeble attempt to wriggle out from beneath him. “You’ve seen it plenty of times. I’m still cold, you know.”

“You’ll warm up. Consider me your blanket.”

They fall into silence and Rafe lies there frowning - occasionally shifting, trying to free himself or at least get Sam to move - for several minutes until he’s forced to admit to himself that he is actually warming up with Sam curled on top of him. It’s not all that uncomfortable, at least. And Rafe has to remind himself to savour the intimacy, because he so almost missed out on it. On Sam… on all of this. His heart heavy with the thought, he shifts again, but this time to bury himself deeper beneath Sam’s body heat; his arms snake around the older man’s waist and he begins drawing lazy circles in the small of his back. Sam’s fingers find Rafe’s hair and tangle in the short strands, settling there. Rafe likes this. He never thought he’d have it; never thought he’d deserve it. And the movie’s not bad, if he pays enough attention.

He doesn’t, though. He’s too caught up in the feeling of Sam pressed against him, of having his hair played with, and he sinks into the couch cushions as deep as they’ll let him go, and then deeper still. Rafe can feel the tug of sleep behind his eyes, blinking into the blaring light of the quiet television, and slowly Sam’s weight seems to grow heavier; soon he can hear the older man’s breathing steady out and the fingers in his hair close a little tighter, a few incoherent words spilling from Sam’s lips in a barely conscious mumble.

“I love you too,” Rafe says quietly, losing his own words to a slow yawn. He doesn’t even know if that’s what Sam said, nor does he care. He’s not brave enough to say it outloud when he knows Sam is listening.

One day. He’s getting there. They’re taking every moment as it comes, fumbling through their feelings for one another like two blind men leading each other to safety. Sam is the breath of fresh air Rafe’s waited years to inhale, and he’ll do anything to keep his supply of oxygen flowing. Sam - well, he knows Sam feels the same. They don’t need to put it in so many words.

As he drifts off, eyes still blinking as he fights the tiredness, Rafe feels safe and warm and comfortable and for the first time in years, he’s content exactly where he is.


End file.
